


Tide and Tandem

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Arguing, Blindness, Blood and Injury, Caretaking, Control, Dominance, Emotionally Repressed, Exploration, First Meetings, Fishing, Getting to Know Each Other, Guidance, Hostage Situations, Illustrated, Interrogation, Intrigue, Introspection, Magical Realism, Major Character Injury, Medical Experimentation, Multiple Selves, Partnership, Pride, Prophetic Visions, Soul-Searching, Symbolism, foresight, stalemate - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-17 19:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14196567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: As he leads his crew across dark waters in search for the cure to his aura's curse, Dark makes a once-in-a-lifetime discovery. (Pirate AU)





	1. Chapter 1

Ever since the bow had slipped past the shroud of fog shielding this region from the outside world, Dark had known. He had seen the dark masses flickering through the water; he had known what lived in this area of the sea. The crew didn’t seem particularly pleased that their course took them through these waters, but they weren’t about to question him, nor the directions of Neel and Benjamin. Their navigators were never wrong unless they were at each other’s throats and given the stranglehold this ship’s magic had over them, that hadn’t happened in a _long_ time.

Dark’s heavy black boots squeaked against the freshly-polished deck as he made the rounds, inspecting the crew. They kept their heads down as he passed; they were submissive, _humbled_ , and that pleased him greatly. This was exactly the crew he had wanted when he first set out on this voyage. They knew who was lord over them. They knew who held control.

It wasn’t long before he made his way back to his cabin, where the only light was from two solitary crystals, forever burning blue and red within their filmy glass coverings. Dark hardly glanced at them, though he did bestow a brief snarl upon the red one, which burned hotter with his neglect.

The blue crystal flickered softly. It hardly mattered.

Shuffling through the dusty papers on his desk, Dark considered his options. It would take at least forty days to pass through these waters and he knew the crew would become increasingly uneasy as each minute of each day passed.

Jim and his brother, who spoke for the crew, would no doubt be knocking on his door and offering their pleas to turn the ship around within the week. Dark would refuse them, of course; the twins didn’t seem to understand that their opinions only turned the commanding officers more drastically against the crew. They had been warned against entering this region so many times, but it had only stirred their thirst for whatever may lie within.

“Your desire…You’ll be lost to it,” some had said, their faces pale with their cowardice.

“I am already lost,” Dark had brushed it off dispassionately. Wisps of his aura had followed the motion, flicking gently in the wind before curling in tight against his body again. “My crew will follow.”

Neel and Benjamin’s guidance, however accurate, could be clouded by adverse skies, however, and it did seem that this expanse would be plagued with the fog for a good while yet. They would need someone or something to keep them on the right path.

Several brisk taps against his heavy door broke through Dark’s thoughts. He had hardly opened his mouth to ask before the door swung open and Wilford strolled in uninvited and unannounced. Dark let it slide; judging by his expression, he had something to report.

“Good morning,” Dark greeted evenly, setting aside his maps and folding his hands against the desktop.

“Mornin’! The doc cut off another hand today!” his first mate announced cheerfully, hooking his thumbs into his suspender straps as he looked around at the cabin’s furnishings. “Good ol’ bit of entertainment, eh? But we were wonderin’ whether or not we should chuck it in the water for the fishies to gnaw on or if these cursed waters’ll turn against us for it.”

“You needn’t worry about the waters themselves—although in these parts, they would most likely swallow a man in their own right,” Dark assured him wryly. “What lives _underneath_ the waves is what you ought to consider first.” He half-expected Wilford to scoff or laugh at the inference, but he did neither. Instead he had gone still, his hands falling back to his sides as he stared intently down and to his right, his dark eyes reflecting the faint light sources nearby.

He shouldn’t be near them, Dark recalled. Instinctively he straightened in his seat, tension coiling around his spine as he watched Wilford shift closer, brushing calloused fingertips against the glass housing the red crystal. It flared in response and he huffed softly, moving to trace the back of his knuckles against the blue crystal’s case and earning a shimmer in return.

“ _Wilford_.” Dark’s warning tone cracked in the silence and Will exhaled tersely, swiping his hand away and folding it tightly against his chest. He only had to meet Dark’s scathing stare for a moment before he swallowed, forced a smile and nodded determinedly, letting his hair flop into his eyes.

“Maybe I’ll let Bim have it! He might wanna take it to Chef Iplier, make some use of it,” he decided brightly.  

“Do that,” Dark concurred lowly. “And while you’re at it, I would like you and the doctor to go fishing. We may find something to serve us well on our journey.”

“Sure thing, Darkie; I’ll get it done.” That said, Wilford tipped two fingers in a jaunty salute before striding off.

Two more days crawled past before their nets pulled taut but judging by Wilford’s whoops of glee and the bullets he wasted as he celebrated, their catch was a prime one, something that Chef Iplier would be able to feed them for at least a week or two.

It wasn’t quite what Dark had expected. Even as he approached, he could see Chef Iplier grabbing Dr. Iplier’s arm, hissing to him that he wouldn’t know where to start with cutting it, much less _cooking_ it.

“Well, maybe if you’d let me get a closer look at it before panicking, I could help you find a joint for cleaving,” the doctor hissed at his brother, whisking his arm away and crouching near the matted, tangled nets.

“Dark! Dark, if this isn’t a doozy, I don’t know what is!” Wilford burst out as he saw his captain, gesturing wildly, very nearly hopping up and down in his excitement. Stifling a sigh over what was no doubt going to be a few oversized bass, Dark nudged the stray members of the crew aside, stopping up short.

Scales. Flesh. Wings. This was no ordinary fish.

“Wilford, this is a _siren!_ ” Dr. Iplier barked at the first mate, who lightly kissed the barrel of his pistol and chuckled in delight.

“Oh, I know.”

Dark took an even breath, crouching next to the doctor as he peeled some of the netting away to get a better look at it. It had nothing close to the elegance he would have expected from one of its kind; it lay completely motionless, curled into its puddle of seawater and blood. Scales were damaged, sopping wet feathers were frayed and torn, and its skin sported a grayish undertone.

“Condition, doctor?” he prompted grimly.

“Hmm…Its face, chest, and wings are damaged, and it wasn’t anything we did,” Iplier muttered, gesturing vaguely at the deep gouges across the visible skin. “These are fresh…maybe a day or two old? Looks like it was left for dead. Look here…” He leaned, brushing a hand over the joint of the nearest wing.

There was no warning; one moment the creature was completely still, the next its powerful tail was flying off the deck, lashing across the doctor’s upper body and bowling him over as if he weighed nothing. Chef Iplier lunged with a sharp yelp of alarm to grab his brother and drag him out of range as the tail swung again. Dark leapt back just as quickly, shoving the startled Wilford back with one hand as the siren flailed and twisted, trying to right itself.

Within seconds it found that its frantic movements caused pain and it let out its first noise—a rattling, raspy noise that would have made a lesser man’s hair stand on end. It writhed and shuddered, twisting onto its stomach to free its wings. They heaved, lifted a few inches and then fell heavily back to the deck with a waterlogged _splat_.

Dark watched with rapt attention as the siren rattled and whined, trembling as it pried open the gills along its ribs to find air. As it caught its breath, the long fin lining its spine stiffened and softened in sync. The movement was almost graceful until the creature went rigid and coughed wetly, dark fluid spilling onto the deck. As it ducked its head, thick blood began drizzling down to join it.

“Do you understand me?” Dark questioned, catching its attention. It shrank back against the base of the railing, as if just noticing his presence, and curled its tail and wings in defensively. After a moment of hesitation, it pushed itself up on trembling arms to see him face to face.

Dark didn’t see malice in its empty eye sockets, as he had expected; all he saw was the watery blood and sea salt streaked down its face, the darker blood staining its lips and chin and throat, the tangled strands of black and gold hair plastered to its forehead, and its _fear_.

The siren exhaled faintly. He tilted his head—yes, Dark noted, it was a male—and spoke. His tone wasn’t nearly as harsh as Dark would have expected, just above a murmur, and his words flowed smoothly, like melting metal.

“The Host…”

Dark’s eyes narrowed in unspoken bewilderment. The siren’s hands tightened against the boards of the deck, steadying him as he lowered his head and shoulders, like an animal preparing to dip into a play bow.

“The Host would request that he be veiled,” he whispered, the song in his voice bubbling with an undercurrent of urgency.

“Host? Is that what you are called, siren?” Dark questioned warily.

“The Host finds that it is the only translation humans are able to hear…” was the muttered response.

“How d’you know that?” Wilford demanded in disbelief. “He hasn’t said a word!”

Something prickled down the back of Dark’s neck at those words. “He has,” he assured him tersely. “Can you not hear him?”

“No…?” Wilford drew out the word, looking somewhere between nervous and disgusted as he glanced at the creature. “Not a peep, Darkie…”

“The Host can See Darkiplier’s aura,” the stranger stated lowly, taking a shuddery breath and letting his head fall lower as another gush of blood slid down his cheekbones. “Darkiplier is naturally in tune with magic—the magic aboard his vessel. The Host can…S-See it…hhh—” He coughed a second time, more hoarsely, and Dark felt his aura constrict around him as he pushed past Wilford toward one of the extra sails bundled up on the deck.

Tearing off a sizeable piece, he approached and crouched in front of the creature, showing no hesitation as he gripped his chin and guided his head back up. His hemorrhaging eye sockets _were_ empty, he confirmed as he smeared back wet strands of hair and bound his face with the scrap of fabric, knotting it firmly as it soaked in his blood. As soon as the knot was synched, he shifted a hand lower to wrap ever so gently around his throat. The Host stilled, his breaths slowing, deepening.

“What do you know of me?” Dark growled, barely audible.

“The Host is a Seer—a rare breed among his people. He Foresaw this day, Foresaw that Darkiplier and his crew would take him from this place,” the other explained steadily, as if he had memorized the words long, long ago.  

“You knew we were coming?”

The siren swallowed flat against his palm, his voice falling even lower, until its singsong echo was louder than the words themselves. “The Host nods carefully, shifting his wings down and back so Darkiplier does not consider damaging them.”

“They’re damaged enough,” Dark pointed out with a slight sneer. “Why are you in this state?”

“The Host is, as he said, a rare breed. His people were not pleased at the thought of a captain taking him. They thought it better that he die than to be sought after by others.”

“Sought after? You believe my crew and I _sought_ after you?”

“Two days ago, Darkiplier believed he would require a guide through these waters…Is that not still the case?”

The idea of this creature knowing his past, knowing his _thoughts_ , made something violent twist in Dark’s chest. His fingertips curled inward, his nails digging into the skin at the base of his neck which was just shy of scaling. “I am not bound to whatever your _Foresight_ was,” he reminded him in a hiss. “Tell me, Host, do you Foresee what would happen if I simply tossed you back?”

“The Host would be helpless. He would bleed and die,” he predicted softly, seeming unaffected by the thought. “And Darkiplier would find his quest to reconstitute his two halves fruitless.”

The shock of those words was too much; Dark reacted, lashing out and slamming the siren into the side of the railing with a weighty crack. His cry of agony made the captain’s stomach churn but he was distracted from it by the hammer of Wilford’s gun drawing back.

“Only heard _one_ half of that conversation an’ I _don’t_ like what I heard,” he snapped, leveling his pistol at the fallen Host’s head. “D’you want me to tell it a little joke?”

“No,” Dark hissed, surprised to find that he was breathing hard. His aura clung icily to him, amplifying his heartbeat in his ears, and he could sense those two halves the Host spoke of putting pressure on his ribs and shoulders. He stared down at the semiconscious creature, who stirred just enough that his wings and tail caught what little sun could find its way through the fog and the clouds. They glimmered mutedly in shades of gold and red, quivering with pain, and Dark took another sharp breath as his aura shook in tandem, of its own accord.

Testingly he stretched out a hand, letting the inky black smoke of his curse peel away from his body and waft down to his prisoner. As soon as it brushed over the scales between his wings, the Host’s whole body relaxed, as if a weight had been relieved.

That was not natural. Dark had no explanation for it or for the near-silent purrs rumbling through the Host’s chest and back as his pain subsided. Dark could feel them through his hand as it hovered in midair between them. Only then did he realize, with no small amount of discomfort, that he couldn’t leave him here. It wasn’t out of his good conscience; he needed to know what he had Foreseen of his quest. He needed to know what he could _offer_.

“No, Wilford,” he repeated, gripping his friend’s forearm so he lowered his gun a few more inches. “He may prove useful. Clean him up, Iplier. Chef, those tanks of saltwater you use to keep our meals fresh…Empty one. Free it for him.”

The doctor and the chef glanced at each other uneasily but offered tentative nods. As he watched Dr. Iplier crouch beside the Host, Wilford fidgeted restlessly, holstered his gun and childishly tugged on Dark’s nearest sleeve for his attention.

“Dark, you’re plannin’ to _keep_ him?” he muttered.

“Yes.” Squaring his shoulders, Dark spun on his heel. “I’ll be in my quarters. Tell me when he has been settled in the storage room.”

“Sure,” Wilford promised gingerly, his eyes fixed on what Dr. Iplier was doing. Even so, Dark paused for a moment to look over his shoulder at him. When he spoke again, his voice was resigned.

“Wilford, I _know_ your gun is still cocked in your holster. Please reset it. The Host is staying for the time being.”

“…Fine.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dark had once been a heavy sleeper, but this was no longer the case. He had learned long, long ago that deep sleep was nothing but an invitation for someone to slide a blade under your chin and dispose of you. His longstanding rival, a sadistic puppeteer with magic entirely his own, had quite a fondness for that. He had described it to Dark once, described the delicious warmth of the blood against his fingers and the sound the knife made across his victim’s skin.

Dark had always found knifeplay too crude for his tastes. Hacking and slicing were too straightforward and messy; he preferred to attack with his aura first, keeping himself at a clean distance and only using his hands if he had to. His rival had known this.

“I͝ thi̷nk̷ b̵y͡ th͝e͝ time we'̵re don͜ȩ,” he’d purred, hooking the tip of his knife into the soft underside of Dark’s chin, “you̸'̶ll s͘ee the ͘be͞n͡efits ͡of get͜ti̶ng u̴p̡ ͢c̸los͞e and p̶e͝rsonal̡!̢”

Since the brief, painful tenure that Dark had spent in the other’s company, he had often opted to go without sleep entirely rather than risk his safety for rest. It was no surprise, then, that his eyes flew open and sleep was forgotten in an instant as his aura sensed movement on the other side of the ship. Tense and wary, he strained his ears for several moments. All he could hear were the creaking of the rafters and the gentle thrumming of the nearby crystals, dim behind their glass. That wasn’t what he had sensed, however.

Folding his hands loosely over his chest, Dark let his eyes close once more, breathing deeply and loosening his hold over his aura. The black magic spanned the length of his cabin, shushing and slithering across the floor, pressing against the walls, reaching farther than his natural hearing could.

He could feel the crew in their various cabins, hear some shifting in their beds, others whispering back and forth—all sharing an underlying layer of unease. They couldn’t rest well here, even with the familiar, comforting lap of the waves underneath them. Dark paused, however, as he reached the galley, where Chef Iplier resided. It seemed he was the only one who was sleeping peacefully tonight. Why was that?

Another muffled thump and a frustrated trill struck his ears then and he pulled himself out of bed as soon as he registered it, pursing his lips grimly and sliding his arms into his coat. It seemed the Host was due for a visit.

Dark had largely avoided the siren after their first meeting; aside from reports from Dr. Iplier on how he was healing, he had been more comfortable pretending that he didn’t exist. Wilford’s glares in the direction of the storage room door had been enough of a reminder, however; Dark knew he still didn’t approve of the Host’s presence here.

“You’re messin’ with something here, Dark; I don’t get it!” he had complained, to which Dark had simply sighed.

“Will, you should know by now that I am more than capable of looking after myself. Besides, I thought you were my most loyal; the one thing I’ve always been able to trust in you is your _burning_ curiosity. Allow me to indulge my own.”

Dark crossed the ship and slipped down the stairs to the storage area silently, giving only a brief glance to the helmsman. Shepherd offered a weak, weary smile in return, retightening his hold on the wheel, and Dark didn’t bother to correct his stance.

As soon as he entered the storage room, the smell of fresh meat and salt stung his nose and made his eyes water. He paused in the doorway, blinking long enough for his eyes to adjust and then shouldered past the slabs of meat hanging from the ceiling toward the tanks positioned against the back wall. Sure enough, the source of the thumping was the siren in the deepest corner, struggling to find a comfortable position. When he found a point where he wouldn’t be spotted, Dark knit his fingers together behind his back and watched.

Clearly the Host was used to more open spaces; he was breathing rapidly, bubbles spewing from his sides and scattering in every direction as he gracelessly fidgeted. He had folded his tail in half, drawing it close against his chest so he could very nearly sit on the floor of the container without trapping it underneath him. His wings, however, weren’t so easily dealt with. As he pressed them tightly against his back, they weighed on him, pushing him into the side of the glass. He couldn’t fully extend them either; they struck the opposite sides on their own, straining against them to no avail.

 _There is no middle ground_. Dark felt a small, humorless smile cross his face at the thought, only to disappear as the Host stilled, his grumbled mutterings gaining strength as a firm, near-commanding tone.

“Setting aside his frustrations, the Host gradually relaxes each muscle group, rethinking his situation. His mind clears, his Sight feeding into it smoothly and clearly—and he can See his solution.” Exhaling, he leaned forward, sliding his tail back and up against the corner between two walls, shuffling his wings toward the surface of the water. Dark tilted his head, eyes narrowing as the Host settled his upper body against the floor of the tank, folding his arms and resting his head against them. He didn’t move for several seconds, aside from the unconscious flexing and relaxing of his fins, and then he sighed deeply.

“The Host would prefer to speak to his visitor face to face, rather than calling out into the…” He chuckled ruefully, tiny bubbles accompanying the sound. “…rather than calling out into the dark. There is a pause as Darkiplier registers the words, muttering a curse under his breath before squaring his shoulders and coming into the light to stare the Host down through the glass.”

By the time Dark’s feet came to a stop in front of the tank, his fingers were biting into his palms, close to drawing blood. He took several seconds to process the Host’s words, looking him up and down with dim, hard eyes.

Over the years, rumors of sirens and their qualities had been passed to him by old and weathered sailors but the Host was living up to very few of them. His people were said to have regenerative healing, but the tears along his arms and chest looked no better than they had yesterday. They were said to sing to fill the silence, but the Host offered nothing but narrations, as if he were telling a story.

Those narrations nagged at Dark. From what he had seen, the Host spoke in third person at all times so by technicality he narrated _everything_ , as it happened. The predictive ones, however, made a change in him. Dr. Iplier had described it to Dark; he said the Host had narrated the entire time he was treated, his voice consistent, distant but sure, the words pouring out of his mouth with increasing speed as the sentences lengthened.

He was doing it at this very moment, Dark realized abruptly as he returned to the present to see the Host tucking his face in close against his arms, muttering against them.

“Your narrations, Host,” he spoke over him, somehow unsurprised when the Host went on as if he hadn’t heard him. “Tell me about them. Are they a compulsion?”

As soon as the last words about how dry and stale the air was whenever the tips of his fins broke the surface of the water, the Host tilted his head in Dark’s direction, answering simply, “The Host must speak of what he Sees. It is his outlet. Sometimes he can be lost in it, to it—sometimes it overtakes him when he doesn’t expect it.”

“But your narrations are not constant,” Dark pointed out emphatically. “Does that mean your Sight isn’t either? Are there gaps?”

“His visions are unpredictable.” The Host flicked his tail lightly, sending droplets of water over the side of the container. “He can Foresee full days or brief moments in the same amount of time and sometimes they require deciphering…There is no _controlling_ them, if that is what Darkiplier is seeking.”

“Wouldn’t _you_ know what I am seeking?” Dark mocked, tilting his head so his hair fell against his face, not bothering to hide the snarl tearing at his face. A Seer who had holes in his information was certainly less useful than one who knew the extent and the meaning behind his abilities. “From another’s standpoint, it would seem you’re incapable of keeping secrets if you’re forced to narrate them.”

The Host lifted his head sharply at that. “The Host does not control his visions, but he _is_ the master of them,” he hissed, a defensive trill vibrating through his throat. “He speaks what _must_ be spoken. Events unfold according to his words.”

Dark’s heart stuttered for a moment at that. “What?” he spat. As if to prove his point, the Host didn’t elaborate and Dark unfolded his hands from behind his back, pressing them against the tank wall between them. “You…” he began tensely, “…are more than a Seer, aren’t you? You are able to _manipulate_ events?” When he still didn’t receive a response, he slammed one of his palms against the glass, the siren wincing at the reverberation. “Answer me!”

As his wince faded, the Host’s expression hardened and he lifted his head a bit higher, matching the venom in Dark’s tone as he growled, “Darkiplier removes his hands from the glass, clenching them at his sides as his anger burns in his chest. He lets it disperse within his aura—and no further. He turns…and _leaves the storage room_.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth before Dark felt his aura turning against him, lashing with barely suppressed fury as his arms fell stiffly to his sides. Deep down, he had to stifle several twinges of panic as a slow, tingling pressure rolled over him, steering him away from the tank and its occupant as if he had been polarized against them. Though he shook against it, his body wasn’t as strong as his will; his feet found the path back to the door and took it.

As soon as the door closed behind him, the commanding force vanished, blown away on the sea air. Dark released a heavy breath he didn’t know he was holding, gripping the doorframe with enough force to crack it.

The Host’s power rivaled his own. His mind roiled at the thought. The longer he stood there, processing this revelation, the stiller his aura became, gradually recovering from the unseen assault the Host had forced on him. As he recovered, the rage faded. In fact, he could feel his mood changing considerably.

The Host was a _powerful_ being with a reason for being here; he seemed to think of it as destiny to _guide_ them. He had given no indication of hostility or resistance to being here.

That would make Dark’s job considerably easier. He was not fond of unknowns or of those who lived outside of his control, but this…given the right strategy, he could treat this less like a threat and more like an opportunity.

The Host’s power would be no threat if Dark could bring him to his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew, I swear this started as a little drabble for my alternate universe and then it ballooned into a lot more! It's been a lot of fun to write so far, though! 
> 
> By the way, the gorgeous art of the Siren Seer has been created for me by blaiddthewolf on Tumblr. Go shower them with love for it! <3


End file.
